True Romance
by pyr0
Summary: A collection of Harley/Joker vignettes. Dark.
1. TR: Silence

**Author's Note: **So yeah, this is just another little pet project I'm fooling around with, something that will be updated to the tune of my fancy or pretty much whenever the mood strikes. Feedback is always accepted and never expected. Bring on the gripes! ;)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harley or the Joker.  
Teehee.

_Hee. Hee._

_Haw._

* * *

Harley was so pretty when she bled, fast-moving lips pulled tight in a grimace of white, immovable lines, creases wearing on features too young and fine to have them. It was in moments like these that he truly savored life, when the unintelligible babble ceased and only the hushed sounds of strained breathing, harsh gasps really, filled the air.

Holding the switchblade poised over her flesh, he paused with a chuckle, allowing the stinging metal to droop, the poignant contrast evident in the shuddery hiccup that escaped her as silvery tears welled in those baby blues.

Tomorrow he'd kiss her. Tomorrow he'd make it all better.

* * *


	2. TR: Death I

**Author's Note: **I'd like to remind everyone that these are mostly completely unrelated to one another and are merely the disoriented ramblings of the HQ/J relationship. Some, like this one and the next, will relate to _The Dark Knight_ or other aspects of the _Batman_ universe.

Danke! :)

* * *

She didn't sign on for this.

He was shouting at her as the flames grew, a deafening roar that resounded grotesquely over the grave screams of Gotham's latest DA – a man sitting in a pool of his own blood, clutching fanatically at his face as the flesh fell away, practically melting beneath violently trembling fingers.

"_Haaarley_!" Joker growled, suddenly at her side, grabbing her ear and dragging her along, "You tryin' to get us caught?!"

Even at his worst, he was still gentle, although the throbbing in her skull dictated otherwise as he hurried her outside and into the alley, the hand that left her ear now slung over her hip. Her throat tightened when she felt it tremble, the cause and underlying feeling evident on his face, grin even wider with the surge of adrenaline and sadistic satisfaction at the wreckage behind.

There was no cause anymore, only his desires left smoldering in the void and creating a tool-like station for the pet she had become, her only companion the now constant sound of Dent screaming; convergence she prayed for, and a quick passing for Harvey.

* * *


	3. TR: Death II

**AN:** Girly and Indiana - not much to say but thank you! -passes out cookies-

And here we go...

* * *

The heat emanating from him grew along with the Cheshire grin on his face as she leaned low over his shoulder, both pairs of eyes tracing anxiously over the details in the morning paper.

Dent was in critical condition; she frowned, hands that usually strayed beyond the boundaries of his fair skin knotted behind her back, contemplating the physics of their dilemma. Her breath slipped, concern wrapped up in the whisper, an aching sigh that all but alluded to the growing malcontent she felt in his embrace.

_Poor Harvey_…

Silence reigned for a moment, during which the absent sounds became apparent to her, the sounds of it clicking in his mind and eagerly dissecting her shattered psyche on a plate. Twisting around, he peered up at her.

"You don't seem yourself today, Harl'..."

Her lip quivered, a forceful bite squelching emotion and drawing blood; he would break Harvey, he was good at what he did, he was the best. The light in his eyes proved devastating, an electricity she had many times learned not to fight, but instead she offered her atonement – a slick kiss, a pressing touch that mingled delicious heat and the red gracing the insides of her mouth, a stinging purchase and promise of pain in place of devotion and sick submission.

Scars like these only looked as captivating when they promised so much more.

* * *


	4. TR: Pretend

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it - I. Is. Broke.

**AN: **Danke! I'm in love with reviews and feedback, people! Savage, Grail, sonata, DC - thanks, guys. It's uber appreciated. :)

* * *

He knows she likes him better when he pretends that she is his lovely one and only, with all the pet names, the sweet nonsensical nothings, the kissing, the cuddling – he shuddered, resounding the despicable word inwardly, letting it mill around in his skull.

_Love_, he mused drolly, _she is love_.

Scanning the room, he spotted her spread on the floor, knees bent awkwardly allowing bare feet to thump out a muffled beat on the concrete, arms stretched lazily overhead; withered petals, crippled by their affirmation, fluttered down, separated from the dying rose currently being twirled between her dainty fingers. Her vacant stare connected with his, the solicitous spark no longer recumbent as she relinquished a puerile chortle.

"What'cha doin', puddin'?"

Caught between a seductive pout and her ubiquitous nettling giggle, she rolled onto her side, swirling patterns into the floor with the rose, more diseased petals descending awkwardly in their throes, fragments crumbling and scattering under each breath.

She isn't love, he confirms; thumbing the blade in his pocket, he crossed to her, delighting in the squeal against the palm of his hand as he pulled her into his arms.

She is _life_, one that he stole to be certain. In fact, very little remained of who she was before and if she were beautiful then, she was even more so now, the fragile angel that had succumbed to Lucifer's dark devices.

She was grinning against his hand then, one tiny hand fisted at her side, the other twisting against the pocket of his jacket. The blade failed, or at least some part of his psyche did, his hand folded delicately around hers…For her, he would pretend.

"Love ya, Harl'."

* * *


	5. TR: Red

* * *

**Author's Note: **YouLivexYouDie, DCoD, bthelil1, Italian, Sunlight, anyone else who has read these little blurbs - thank you for your attention &/or reviews!

**Italian:** That's what I like about her too. She isn't simply this silly little girl (well, she sort of is lol), she has this dark side and there are several writers on the site that have tweaked this pairing in that direction, with absolutely amazing results. Hehe, toxic romance...

**DCoD: **Whether we're right or wrong, Joker _needs_ her on some level. It's like she's his debased connection to humanity...most definitely one of the more intriguing pairings of all time.

* * *

Blood was red. Her heart too was red – almost as much as his smile. His kisses were always red, the kind that left aches and tender bruises.

Her hands were so very _red_, slender digits trembling around the handle of the dagger, vicious fluid collecting and dripping at the tip.

"My, my, Harley…"

He clucked his tongue at her, one hand braced under her chin, vice-like grip containing mobility to look into her eyes; his own narrowed, bemused and disenchanted in how those bright blue eyes closed, fresh tears spilling over the brim, splaying thick lashes as it mussed her face paint.

Her wonted jovial and voracious "Mr. J" came out warbled, jumbled due to the pressure on her jaw and sputter of tears and the congestion she no longer suppressed. He almost felt sorry for her like this; her first kill – an event that he presumed would have made her ecstatic – overshadowed by all these little _feelings_.

Sputtering once, twice, three times she sniffled, fingers cold and damp beneath his as he favored the dagger, cherishing the terrified look in her eyes, a child fearing repercussions and punishment for idle disobedience. The guilt weighing on her semi-conscience was painfully evident, something that wouldn't meld with what he had in store; mentally adjusting every curve and twist to fit his perfect future, he pursed his lips, the gentle whisper trapped between their bodies –

"Baby, you take my breath away."

* * *


	6. TR: Curio

**Author's Note: **Vaetra, Gamine, DCoD - thanks again for your support! :)

**DCoD: **The mind games are so captivating; one minute, he's pissed her off to no end and the next she's a melty mess. He knows exactly what she is thinking before she even does.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of these characters...although there is a certain Prince I wouldn't mind dancing with...

* * *

Curiosity could be a dangerous ally, not counting the indulgence of fine taste. The silk stung against her fingers as she pulled the article out of the drawer, a sense of the forbidden tingling at the base of her spine like ice water, eyes eagerly conning the hexagonal patterns whimsically instilled on the delicate material. Glancing around the room, she stuffed the relic into the crook of her arm, skipping into the sanctuary of the bathroom and slowly sealing the door behind her.

Pulling on the garment with trembling digits, she shuddered; it smelled just like him. He was smaller than she was, slender and tall, all lean muscle and spindly bone…biting her lip to anchor the girlish squee building as a tremor in her chest, she examined her reflection briefly in the mirror before hitting the sink, scrubbing away layers of white and black lacquer. New flesh appeared behind the mask, bright earthly pink hues in place of the grotesque shades she favored, trading them in place of a sick desire for self abuse.

A sharp knock from behind announced time had passed, insipid lips curving into a smirk as she wiped away the remnants of water from her face.

"Yes?"

"What?" he almost sounded insulted, "No 'puddin' today?"

Whenever she could harbor _this _effect…whenever she held _this_ caliber of power…whenever she had him backed into a corner – his jaw dropped, form slacking against the door frame as he stared, gaze sticking to the green silk boxers slung low on her hips. Surprise was always her best element.

"Where are _your_ clothes?"

"I'm wearing them."

Mouth forming a perfect 'o', he wordlessly stepped inside, standing near a foot taller as he stood behind her. He was smiling. She didn't even notice him shut the door.

_Curiosity killed the cat…_

* * *


	7. TR: Rigor

**Author's Note:** It's been a while, but this might make up for _something_... :)

Danke!

**Disclaimer: **H.Q. & Mr. J aren't mine. For shame.

* * *

"Are you dead?"

His voice was a mocking whisper as he towered over her, spread eagle on the unforgiving concrete of the warehouse floor. He had struck her because she cried, because she was _weak_; tears thrilled him, made him King...and curiosity with his immobile pet made the lust infallible.

"What does it feel like?"

He circled, swiping occasionally, prodding, stroking her hair, face, flesh, jabbing her ribs and legs with his exceptionally polished patent leather shoes – anything to get a rise, always a whimper. Her lips pressed more firmly together, resolutely still as he again touched her; fingertips and sharp nails strangled within blonde locks, strands askew in a sharp tug. Her eyelids fluttered, a struggle to remain blind, to shut out her miserable Prince.

"Why, Harley – you're blushing!" he exclaimed pleasantly, sitting back on his heels as her heavy lids peeled back, bright blue eyes staring down – his hands, the clock on the desk, his god-forsaken shoes – anything but those eyes, electric heat warming every inch.

Rough hands, devils in his right, moving up, up…

"_What_ does it _feel_ like?" he pushed again, another exhilarating tug and pressure, hot breath filling her ear; this time, she looked up into that abyss warranting home, exquisite pit and sanguinary Elysium…

"Like dying."

* * *


	8. TR: Tonic

**Author's Note: **Vaetra, DCoD, harleyQdoll, Villainy, Dusty - thank you for your reviews/sticking with this! :) With snippets of time left over, I've got several blips about to come out.

GroggyRae - ambiguity is the way to go! loves you! =)))

* * *

If naivety had a name, its name would be Harley.

Unfortunately, the very saccharine force of naivety itself had perched squarely on his knee, cooing, warbling affectionate yet incoherent nothings. The pretty words, matter of fact, nearly covered over the grievousness of her future happiness forecast; the bubbly nymph pursued closely, bubble gum tongue wetting bare fingertips, smudging paint and fresh blood from his brow as she uncovered his wounds.

_Never bring a knife to a gunfight…_

Tasting blood on the inside of his mouth, he momentarily forgot the wiggling weight on his lap, his own tongue sorting to find the hemorrhage, liberated by seepage of more of the sweet metallic tang he had become accustomed to.

"Wicked Batsy! Treatin' my puddin' like this…he oughta be punished!"

"_You_ should be punished!" he growled, snatching her hand out of the air and away from his face; the simpleton was dredging his last nerve and didn't have the slightest clue, every furious glare and impatient gesture delicately wasted on those precious blue eyes.

"But…"

"But _what_?!"

"You need a doc –"

"A _doctor_?" Chuckling suddenly, vicariously, he pulled her closer, "Like you?"

Her lips drew a tight line, gaze pinned to where he gathered her hands to his chest, "I was just playing."

The way her sweetly uncertain voice cracked delighted him, excited him to no end; every day with her held new opportunities and more chances to extort and command…

_Dewy. Callow. Credulous. Gullible. Trusting. Innocent. Inexperienced. Raw._

"Hey, Harl'…"

She looked up, again with much struggling and diffidence, not quite sure if she liked the way his eyes twinkled aberrantly, the way he gripped her tighter…

_Appetite. Compulsion. Vice. Want. Malice. Aversion. Pique. Vitriol._

"Wanna play doctor?"

* * *

**Aaah! So...muccch...CHEESE!!**


	9. TR: Spell

**Author's Note: **Dusty, DCoD, Vaetra - danke, luvs! :-) Cookies for everyone! (Wow, haven't done that in a while...)

Gea - You flatter me... HQ/JK are such an infallible pairing...there aren't really words to describe their relationship because it can be anything at any one time. It's nuts...  
As for Wuthering Heights...OMG. That's all. Oh, and don't get me started on Dorian Gray. ;-)

_

* * *

Pop!_

"Puddin'…"

She chomped loudly, popping the gum in her mouth and smacking her cherry red lips, muffling sounds further as she attempted to speak.

"_Mistah J_!"

He cringed inwardly, the sugary sweetness of her voice combined with the scent of the bubble gum nauseated him, warm breath bathing his cheek as she hovered over his shoulder. Pushing her back, he spread spindly arms across the desk, straightening papers and newsprint with exaggerated flourish, ignoring the small disappointed sigh in his ear, hands braced over flared hips in the corner of his eye.

_Pop!_

"_Harley_…" he ground out through clenched teeth, swiveling in his chair to face his girl, "Daddy is very busy."

"You always say that!"

He was truly a busy man in his own right – plotting and scheming against the Batman consumed much of his energy, leaving Harley, like a lost puppy, dejected and lonely, yipping and following closely at his heels. She relented, her bottom lip jutted out in a fixed pout, forehead crinkling as she slinked away from his desk.

Pen had scarcely graced the paper in what seemed like an eternity and she was peering across at him from over the edge of the desk. His brow jumped rigidly; amusement was not something he was currently experiencing.

"I thought I told you –"

The look in her eyes was different, a sort of cold stare that devoured his preoccupation, gobbled up his coherence…or perhaps it was the scant, red laced night gown she had donned that demanded his rapt attention. He cocked his head, what a surprise it all was – tangible lengths of smooth pale flesh garnered under constraints as he watched her shoulder back into her black silk robe. _Oh, decisions, decisions_…

"I'll just leave you alone then, sugar."

"Now, now –" he grabbed her hand, pausing her departure and standing fully at her side, moonstruck Cheshire grin growing ever wider as he engaged her in a proverbial waltz, her bare feet snug atop his classy dress shoes as he effortlessly romanced her with all the grace and glam of old time Fred Astaire.

"I'm never too busy for you."

* * *

  
**I feel sort of guilting using that last line...my dad actually said that to me...cried like a baby, but it meant a lot, just like I'm sure it meant a lot to Harley. Bah! Sentimentality!!**


	10. TR: Viscus

**Author's Note: **Princess, DCoD, Harley – thanks again. And to all those lurkers out there – step on up, don't be shy; feedback is always mucho appreciated and I'm currently idea shopping, so if anyone has anything in mind that they've been dying to see or just fooling around with…or any suggestions…feel free to toss it out there. I'm up for a bit of a challenge. ; -)

**Revised; for the sake of clarity (thanks, Harleydoll.) It's amazing how one word can make such a huge difference.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

* * *

Each dream, each nightmare was so very disparate, more twisted and vile than the first. Why this was so much more different than before, she didn't know, it just seemed more personal this way – and there was just _so much blood_.

Her Puddin's eyes glittered darkly, unbidden glee evident as adrenaline pulsed from him in waves, breathy grin stretched beyond normal means.

Insanity was an understatement. Dent's screams testified to that as the flames licked higher, flesh popping and bubbling, stripping away the beauty and smooth skin as it grated the concrete.

He had taken everything while she stood idle at his whim, naked to the fierce new emotion that dawned with realization, making her stomach turn and palms sweat.

She lurched, jumped awake really, chest heavy and clammy skin slick as her hands pressed fervently to her mouth.

_Heaven help me…_

He wasn't there. To the left of her, his usual spot was bare, the blankets pressed and straight, unmolested and colder than when he was beneath them. _Breathe_…_please…breathe_...She slid under the crisp sheets, body rejecting the cold but ignoring the meaning as hot tears spilled over her trembling fingers.

"_Sugar plum_…"

She was mumbling, asinine expositions in the presage of whimsy, at least of his own deviant sort as he stepped out from his hole in the wall, intent on being the only source of her pleasure – or pain; gingerly easing in on her side, he pressed, nuzzling nose and lips against the crook of her neck.

"_Why?_" His voice - cold, methodical, tantalizingly rough - the whisper broached her soul...picked and sorted the contents of her emotions; he kissed possessively below her ear. It wasn't like it hadn't happened before.

"Because you broke my heart."

* * *

**Dribble, drabble...**


	11. TR: The First Time

**Author's Note: **Uhm, thanks! =)))

* * *

The first time he ever saw Harley Quinn was in the backseat of a black four-door sedan, all polished, tidy even though the pale stockings she wore exposed skin through rifts in the delicate stretch fabric, rifts that exposed scrapes, dried blood clinging to wisps of tattered nylon up to her knees. The tan knee-length pencil skirt she wore rode up, exposing the white lacy shift beneath, her hands twisted in a knot on her lap, momentarily darting to fiddle with the hem of her dress shirt. Head dipped back against the headrest, she stared vacantly up at him through the glass, cerulean eyes ablaze, bottom lip sucked in as _his_ hand clamped down over her knee; the Joker leaned across her, peering innocently up at his nemesis.

"So whatcha gonna do, _Bat_man…" he smacked his lips brashly, one spindly arm stretched across her lap to access the control panel and allowing the window to crack, "Give me a ticket?"

He hesitated, still paying too much attention to the blonde; her hair was limp, from a rough day or the Joker's own manipulation he couldn't tell, just that it was tangled, skewed in every which direction but never doing what she desperately must have desired it to do – to hide the flush that crept up her neck and across her cheeks as her dearly beloved landed a sloppy succession of kisses below her earlobe, a magnificent curtain that shielded a little girl from the prying eyes of the world.

"Let her go, Joker."

The Clown laughed, slow at first but building to a raucous definition and boisterous accord; _Harleen_ had made her decision some months ago, he was afraid, and _she was his_. Affirmation was always sweet, especially when he got his way and he did, warmth spreading prickly sweet through the base of his spine as her hand folded over his. Bruce grimaced.

"You're too late."

Her voice was faint, feeble, but her expression was clear; bright, blue eyes unveiled from their haze and sharp, hawking as she studied his face from a fresh perspective, no longer human. It wouldn't take much – he could stretch, reaching, twisting through the window as glass would shatter and crunch beneath his feet. He would grab hold of her, easily able to pull her wispy frame through the gaping space and…

He froze. The car was gone, the air heavy with exhaust as he stared down at the puddle of oil at his feet; sighing, he chuckled. If Joker was going to parade her around in this town, the least he could do is get a better car.

* * *


	12. TR: Cope

**Author's Note:** Dusty, Shallots – thanks! Harley, DCoD – danke! I'm so proud with that ending and how it turned out.

**Disclaimer: **Just because there are not near enough of these…Batman, his cohorts, and their dastardly adventures in crime and punishment are not mine.

* * *

_If you don't like something about yourself, you're the only one who can change it._

The face that stared back vacantly through the looking glass wasn't her own, wasn't human – the sunken eyes mocked her, dark rimmed with smudged black lacquer and saline, the left one darker, deep purple tingeing the perfect almond shape and delicate veined lid.

It was not the pain that drained her, left her bones brittle, muscles strained and weak; it was the sleep, the complete and utter exhaustion that depleted resistance and settled in for the longest night at the crack of dawn, that first convex sliver of gold light peering over the horizon. Craning her slender neck steeply to the side, she stretched, a grotesque pop cracking the silence, splitting it wide as she turned the faucet on. Red hands cupped beneath the running tap, bringing the lukewarm water up and over her face, cheeks burning with cold, stray drops – rivulets really – straying and spilling down her front, knees frozen and knocking against the pedestal sink.

It was unfeeling, uncaring, a genuine touch of death and sacrilege as layers of decay, red and black and speckles of white swirled in the murky water. It would hurt him so to see her unbound this way.

The jumpsuit came next. The scissors from the counter were already in her hand, snipping and shredding straight lines through the cheap costume material. Strips of red and black piled around her bare feet, offering some protection from the slick dampness of the bathroom tile as she cut some more, around arm and thigh alike, finally allowing her to step free of the loathsome fabric.

_Oh._ For him to see her now – naked, robbed of passion and childlike exuberance before that mirror, water still dripping from the fringes of her hair and pale complexion, bruises and cuts, a menagerie for his viewing pleasure, stretched far along every inch of fresh skin from crown to the bottom of dainty feet.

_Oh, puddin'…_

It – no, _he_ – had imprisoned her so, the self-righteous king presiding over his court in nothing short of a primeval quest for dependence, her own preferably, his enthusiasm and delight for the sanguine and burning hunger for abuse overwhelming her need to breathe. It was blindingly hateful, love in its most potent form… a masochist holding hands with the sadist, a lamb in the lion's den.

_It isn't enough._

She had to be closer. She had to be farther away. His hands were so cold…

He happened upon his harlequin hours later, a cold and bare collection of bone and fleshy softness huddled wet and trembling inside the shower, the showerhead still sputtering water that had long ago run frigid. Immovably hopeful blue eyes turned upon his arrival, unabashedly looking him in the face even as his gaze wandered voraciously over long legs bent at awkward angles in the cramped space.

"May I join you?"

* * *


	13. TR: Revolver

**Author's Note: **Just another short shot…Enjoy!

**Vaetra – **I actually didn't notice the similarities until you pointed it out. Thanks muchos! :)

**PrincessxofxthexAsylum, DustyDreamer, DCoD – **Thank you ucho mucho! Goodness, my emo is showing…

* * *

"I hate you…"

Her voice shook with the treason of the verse, how deceptive and yet so tempting in the way they trembled on pallid lips equally so. He knew she didn't mean it; she didn't have the gall to revile him let alone fess up to dissatisfaction in lieu of his brand of evil.

"So shoot me," he whispered solidly, a sneaky teasing grin spreading thin lips wide as two skeletal fingers plunged into his chest, "straight through the heart."

_What heart?_

She pulled the trigger.

He laughed. He howled. He gasped for air as fat tears rolled down his cheeks in creases in the greasepaint. He was positively glowing. _Pathetic_. The look on her face – shock, embarrassment, fear, and another delicious emotion he detected as pride. Cheeks flushing a deep red, she reluctantly met his gaze, a dog cowering before its master…

"I hate you too, Harl'."

* * *


	14. TR: Beautiful

**DCoD – **Oh man, oh man…dysfunctional is an epic understatement. ;) I have no doubt that she hates him, but they're so far gone that it really just doesn't matter anymore and besides that her hate isn't grounded…reflexes and unwilling actions only result. Thank you for your review! :)

**Gea – **Thank you! :) I'm trying to make things a bit more realistic (or as twisted as they can get in the Nolan-verse) without each carrying the same feel. Again, thank you! You flatter me…

**Author's Note: **I just realized that I didn't really make it clear what happened once she fired the gun in "Revolver," but judging by the fact that he is alive and speaking, hopefully the idea is one to be gotten.

**Disclaimer: **Isn't it about time for one of these things? You know how it goes…

* * *

He was beautiful when he smiled, a genuine touch of ecstasy and wonderment she couldn't quite grasp as physically possible.

It was _beautiful_.

Not handsome, not dashing – just _beautiful_, exquisitely masculine in an overtly goofy sort of way. It made her skin burn, her heart gallop within herself as she summoned fantasies, things both torrid and absurdly genteel that caused her to soar as high as a kite, giddy with her schoolgirl crush.

It was perfection and desire and…and he was so _beautiful_.

It was all for her.

He was all hers.

* * *


	15. TR: Used

**DCoD – **Danke, love! :) I happen to be just as enthralled as we speak, which is nice because it often covers over the bad bits. Snirk. _Sometimes_.

**Vaetra – **I'm glad to hear you enjoyed it. Ogling is good and perfectly acceptable in most countries.

**To all you creepers out there** – I'm not really a review whore (_cough_), but I do like to hear whether or not _TR _is a good read. So, yeah…it takes like two seconds. Yayeth or nayeth. M'kay?

* * *

She was used to being manipulated, used, exploited, tricked, controlled, dominated – whatever the case, it was her ever enduring concomitant. Standing beside him as a glorified complement had its privileges and she would revel in the way he would allow her an inkling of magnificent possession – lips crushed against his in a demanding kiss, leaving her terrified with his allowance, tolerance of her zeal and the press of her hands.

It would be over quick, though. He was stronger and anything she could muster would easily be countered over ten times. Soon, he'd shove back, forcing her against the wall with one hand forcing her own and the other slanted on her hip. She was used to the way he kissed, hot and suffocating at the back of her throat. She was used to the pressure, the anger, the violence – the blood and bruises she would awaken to. She was used to _him_.

"Harley…"

_A heady whisper, tangible heat_…

"Yes, puddin'?"

_Choke me. Break me. Please say you need me…_

"Get out."

* * *


	16. TR: Cripple

**Author's Note: **Update! Yay-ness!

Also, a HUUUUUUGE thank you to **CuberFTW**, **PrincessxofxthexAsylum**, **harleyQdoll**, **DCoD**, and **MicroChips** for their fantastical reviews. =] And to those creepers out there who read and run, please feel free to let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman or any of the characters related to the franchise. DC Comics does. They are filthy rich.

* * *

"_Haaaaarrlley Quinn_…"

"Don't call me that."

His head cocked to the side at the spiteful tone in her voice, surveying her reaction through jilted eyes, appreciatively so, as her knuckles turned white against the table. She was so _angry_, a hot flush creeping visibly over her collar and up to her ears.

_Shut up, Harleen…_

"Why?" he sent a crooked smile her way, drawing out the laconic question like one takes a deep breath. She, however, faltered like a fish out of water, gasping for air as the proud catcher prodded the hook deeper. She hadn't been careful enough and _it_ was happening. He had seen into her very soul, shredding the façade like tissue paper, the placebo of her strength and superiority had failed as she vainly tried to prove it. He was preying on her emotions, the very things that made her female and so very despicably human.

"You know why."

He laughed at her then – raucous, unbalanced, the chord sending chills down her spine as she looked into his face. He fell silent then, opting to stare curiously at her, drumming his fingers against the dull metal table top.

"_You_…" he breathed lowly, headily on the edge of his seat, "You're _fun_."

"This is not at all professional –"

"_I _am _not_ the professional here!" he exclaimed ardently, pressing his hands flat against his chest with flourish, "though, I do have a question, _Harrrleen_."

"Very well, Joker."

_Great, Harley. Be a snob. Make him hate you and this damnable playtime. Make that godawful grin go away._

"Why are _you_ afraid of _me_?" Blunt, precise, without a hint of his atypical flora – it was frightening. It was exciting. Her pulse accelerated, fingers slick around the pen slanted on her notepad. Blood was rushing to her head, making her ears burn and prickle, her cheeks flooding with striking warmth as she considered the implications.

She met his gaze, a persuasive combination of strength and control; she regretted it immediately. She was as transparent as a pane of glass, as clear as the air between them. It didn't take long and it certainly didn't take much. He saw the turmoil and the bitterness as blindingly bright as the sun. Curiously watching her pink lips work to form some sort of rehearsed rebuttal, he wanted her to _scream_. That's all…just once, maybe twice…preferably as she begged for her life from beneath his hands. He wanted to kiss her, to flush the life from her and detoxify the unity of the perfect..._no_…that exquisite mind, so malleable and fresh for _him_.

"I love you."

Had he heard that right? So, his little Harley Quinn was growing up after all! He chuckled darkly, a rich sound circulating from deep within his chest, projecting off hollow walls and echoing in her conscience. Embarrassed, humiliated, defeated she pressed her head into her hands, smothering tears and pained gasps that begged an interruption.

"_Lo-ove_…" he crooned, leaning forward to knock her arms away at the wrists to stare at that precious face, all bloodshot eyes and flushed skin, "has _nothing_ to do with it."

* * *


	17. TR: Touch

**Author's Note: **It's amazing how a single touch, one physical feeling, can make your life. :)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Joker or Harley Q. They belong to DC and a whole lot of other rich, hot-dog loving people.

* * *

All she wanted was one day. One day for the ticking to stop, the endless barrage of thoughts and worrisome whispers to cease. She wanted _silence_ – blissful, perfect, true – profound and utter _silence_, beautiful, a roaring deafness that consumed every fiber and chord.

He stared curiously down at her snuggled tight against the mattress, saturated in warmth and pancake flat pillows. She reached for his hand, fingertips running over soft flesh and flecks of war paint, savoring the seconds due his stillness, the sound of his breathing, heavy through parted lips.

Pleasantly rough fingers grazed her cheek, curving over the subtle imperfections and rise and fall of her design. She froze – a dangerous mix of denial and hopefulness trudging a path through the murk and the egregious mire, the undisclosed desires of her heart. Her innocence was his, their sins enduringly painted, stained on the walls that towered around them.

She got her silence then, the static she so desperately wanted – aberrant luxury as a disgraced Princess enveloped in the warm embrace of such an elaborate and commanding sinner such as he.

_Touch…feel…sensation..._

She was too overwhelmed, overjoyed, too excited and dizzyingly euphoric to consider the in-between, the circuits that joined those little _feelings_ to the part of her brain that simply quit working, functionally absent as her body grew sickeningly hot beneath his hands. He offered a slight smile, pressing a pure kiss to her right temple…her eyelids felt so heavy…

_Lust?_

_Love?_

"Hey, Harl', remember that _one time_…"

* * *


	18. TR: Patience

**Author's Note: **Vampire says, "Bluh!"

* * *

His hands formed intentionally delicate, prayerful strokes akin to a skilled artist's brush eagerly stenciling needy songs against her painted flesh, bared teeth entranced in an angelic sigh at the base of her throat. Perhaps it wasn't a mistake.

Inwardly, she choked on the thought, rolling the words around headily with her tongue even as his crossed hers deeply. Unlikely as it was, he loved her, _needed _her in the most basic, primal sort of way. And she was as patient as he was fickle. _Oh, she was so very patient_. She needed him just as badly, as the earth needed the moon, their bodies needed oxygen…Another exhale, sticky heat falling below her ear and sending a jolt racing from there to well below her left hip. A measured twitch…a solicitous press…frenetic in the way hand and body met, pushing and grabbing in one potent instance. Maybe she wasn't as patient as she thought.


	19. TR: Electrify

**Author's Note:** So, after a year... Enjoy! :)

* * *

He watched her from across the room; watched as she remained tightly pressed against the crumbling wall several feet behind him, bathed in the cascading shadows of the warehouse and silently dreading his next actions with eyes drawn wide in what he could only interpret as wonderment. _Or devotion…or one of her other stupid __**feelings**_. Smirking, he turned his attention back to the squirming body he held by the throat, savoring the spiking warmth beneath his palms as his victim lashed out against the slick chains that effectively bound him to the rusty metal folding chair. The Joker didn't care if she saw him at work, saw him nonchalantly dispatching yet another miserable soul that failed to satisfy his curiosity. It was all trivial, yet another cracked facet of their dysfunctional union.

_Just another day at the office._

"Hold _still_!" he hissed in the officer's ear, "This next bit is going to be…_shocking_."

Harley coolly overlooked the expected presence of fear in Officer Blakely's countenance, the color that drained his fresh face replaced with pallor and a cold sweat. This was no longer new, no longer a sweet surprise. Their _fear _did not electrify her as it had at first; no, it evolved into a frightening reminder of the true nature of the man she desired most. Throat tight, she swallowed, wanting so badly to look away as her beau assiduously tipped the man backwards into a pink and yellow polka dot kiddie pool, shushing him calmly as a stream of panicked whimpers erupted from behind the smothering layers of duct tape carving lines into his face and mouth.

_I..._

Swallowing hard, she imagined many things - a staggeringly uninhibited paroxysm behind her eyelids of _him_, his hands…smooth ice, _rapturous_, unsparing as they traced shapes, beautiful words into her burning flesh…lowering her to the floor, it's penetrating chill aching to the bone…distantly she heard screaming, violently impassioned and mingling with the warmth that encircled her body, white hot lights exploding behind eyes clenched tight.

"_Harley._"

_Want…_

It was all over. Uneven breath forcing itself through her lips, she revived, unsure if the screaming was her own or belonged to the man half-submerged in the pool, exposed wires sparking and jutting around his lifeless corpse. Joker's hands clung ardently to her frame, fingers digging deeply into soft hips, his breath hot in her ear with the utterance of her name.

_You._

"You _electrify_ me."


End file.
